


You're My Sweetheart

by goatbutt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Genderswap, M/M, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 11:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goatbutt/pseuds/goatbutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Direction is formed the same way, and Harry and Louis have their mad friendship. It's sweet and sudden and so good.</p><p>They start to fall in love a little bit, but Harry's gay. It's not that he doesn't love her, because he's never been this in love with anyone, it's just that there's no sexual attraction at all with her.</p><p>It works, for a while, and better for Harry than it does for Louis. She's got romance and sex a little too tightly wrapped together, and it hurts when Harry pulls someone for the night. She starts to wonder if things would be easier if she had a penis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saralisse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saralisse/gifts).



> first and foremost, this is a gift. pandle, i love you so very much. i'm sorry that sometimes i can't make it seem like i do. [your prompt](http://1dangstmeme.livejournal.com/996.html?thread=337892#t337892) was three things at the same time: powerful, frightening, and wonderful. 
> 
> secondly, this is an attempt to get back into writing, with a wildly different style. i tried to treat everything with as much respect as i possibly could, and i'm fairly confident that i managed to do just that, but if this fic presents a problem for you, message me and i'll get it worked out. 
> 
> thanks to: pan, jay and tamzin for putting up with me throughout the writing of this fic, and the lumineers for the title

“I’m gay,” he says, apropos of nothing at all. They’d talked about football, and then about music, and then there was a slightly uncomfortable silence. And now this. 

They wait for the reaction, each of them watching another, until it becomes evident that nobody in the room will find a problem with Harry’s admission, even given time. 

“I suppose you’re a proper heartbreaker,” Louis teases him, fluttering her eyelashes. 

He ducks his head and then laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“I try not to be,” he offers, and the words should sound pretentious and over confident, but in his mouth they’re more like an apology. 

-

People - others in the house especially, although her family are not exempt - begin to tease Louis. They ask about Harry when she’s alone, and it’s obvious what they mean by the dips in their voices and how their eyebrows raise. 

She has no time for their teasing. She and Harry have gotten remarkably friendly remarkably quickly, but there’s nothing more between them. 

“I’ve never felt this close to anyone,” he whispers to her at night, long after the others have fallen asleep. 

“I’m magnetic,” she whispers back to him, smiling to show her teeth and feeling her eyes crinkle at the edges. When he smiles back at her, she can feel herself blush. 

-

She begins to fall in love with him in snatches, the intervals between them smaller and smaller as she spends more time with him, and there is never a point where she is granted reprieve and allowed to right her footing.

She dreams, sometimes, that it was the same for him. It’s a selfish wish; the one where she screws up her eyes and whispers _please just let him love me._ She keeps it close to her heart all the same, pressed in flat and safe against her ribcage. 

Best friends. That’s what she tells people. If they choose to talk from there then what? It is not in her power to control or stop them. 

_They_ don’t talk about it, not for a long, long time.

-

“We’ve just really. We’ve really connected,” he tells people with a smile, and she can’t stop herself from curling her toes up inside of her shoes. 

-

It’s the night of the final before anything passes between them that could be considered anyway _romantic._

Behind a locked door and protected by the distance and disappointment of their bandmates they sit, facing each other - knees to knees, in the hotel bath. Harry holds her hands, his fingers reaching right past her wrists, and then they cry. 

Slowly, so slow that she is sure it is not happening, he leans forward. The combination of the lighting and the soft sound of his breath makes it seem like he is just about to kiss her. 

She holds her breath and waits. 

He seems to draw away from her even more slowly. When she allows her breath to escape her sigh is audible. 

“I love you,” he admits, in place of an explanation. There is still that sad edge to his smile that makes the words sound like he’s apologizing. 

“I know,” she laughs. _Joke it away._

It is his turn to sigh. “I didn’t mean...” his pauses are heavy. “Like that.”

“I know,” she mouths. 

He angles his face away from her and closes his eyes. She imagines, just for a second, that this is his moment to collect himself before he really does kiss her. 

-

There are times when she’s leaning in close to Harry and the television is turned on and low enough that she can filter it out. The blue light washes away the age on Harry’s face. He looks stunning. 

She turns her face to the screen and allows herself to think about what would happen if Harry were to see her in the blue glow - if she would look as beautiful to him - if that would be enough to maybe...

When he does turn - and he does, he will always turn to her and look for her and centre on the sight of her - he smiles. 

“You have an eyelash on your cheek,” he laughs. When he reaches up to brush it off her face, she imagines the touch burns. 

It’s unfair to both of them, falling in love, but they do anyway. 

-

His voice is careful as he tells her “I’ve been thinking about something,” and he doesn’t sound like himself. 

She leans back her head to look at him. Upside-down, he looms over her in a vaguely uncomfortable but not threatening, way. He’s blushing, a little. She smiles about that before the thought strikes her that he probably expects her to reply, somehow, to his comment. 

Her automatic thoughts spell out _“Don’t hurt yourself”_ and _“That’s new”,_ but there’s something in his eyes that makes her hold back. 

She pats the seat beside her and tucks her knees underneath her. He sits down slowly and heavily; like he’s still getting used to his body. 

“What if we.” He stops. She can usually keep up with him, even stay ahead of him, but here, she’s lost. Harry’s breath is shaky before he tries again. “What if we...went out?” 

Her mind stops and races at once, and she feels giddy. He seems to be watching her carefully, and he seems to not like what he’s seeing, if how his eyebrows fold together and his face pales is any indication. 

“Like, boyfriend and girlfriend?” She finally manages to ask, unconcerned about how juvenile the phrase sounds or of how her hope makes her voice higher pitched. 

“Well, if you’d like. I think we could maybe. We love each other, yeah? Why not try to keep that here, and we’ll maybe. We’ll maybe have an open relationship?” His own hope does the same to his voice, pulling his question up and making it fragile at the edges. 

Her breath is knocked out of her. As she stares at him, she memorises his face and forgets the flaws and then, slowly, she exhales. “Christ,” she whispers. “We need to give that a go.” 

-

She can almost _hear_ her mother’s frown over the phone. 

“I’m happy with how it is,” Louis says quickly, before her mother can offer judgement. “We’ll make it work.” 

Her mother sighs. Louis frowns at the disbelieving burst of static and takes the opportunity to set the phone down so she can finally take a bite of the chocolate digestive that’s been sitting on her coffee table since the phone rang.

When she picks the phone up again, her mum has almost finished her rant. “...Understand. I just worry, sweetheart.”

Louis rolls her eyes. “I know mum. I’m looking after myself, promise.”

“I love you a lot, darling. Give my love to the boys.” 

Harry shoulders his way in through the door. His hair is wet and sticking to his forehead. She hadn’t even noticed the noise of the rain hitting the roof before now. 

“I will do, mum. Thanks for calling. Tell the girls I said hello.”

Harry waits before she’s hung up the phone and left it to the side before kissing her hello. She squeals when he shakes his hair out like a dog, but the way that he laughs stops her from complaining.

“I told my mum,” Louis blurts out, while Harry is taking off his wet shirt. “She sends her love.” 

“Does she know I’m -”

“No.”

“Hm.” He sits beside her and gathers her in his arms. Pressed up close to him, she can smell the rain. “My own mum might not accept it as easily, but I don’t think she’ll have a huge problem with it.” 

Louis closes her eyes and counts her breaths. “And if she does have a problem?” 

_She_ is dreading the answer, because she knows how close Harry is to his mum. Harry’s laugh starts at the bottom of his chest and Louis can feel it growing before she actually hears him laugh. 

“She’s not in the relationship,” he snorts. 

He’s still a sixteen year old boy, underneath his ageless appeal. 

-

They announce it to the others in the band by holding hands and by calling one another _Darling_ and _Sweetums_ and Harry even manages to use _Boo Bear_ before they crack.

“Off limits!” Louis laughs. “Never again, Harry Styles.” 

Niall seems to consider everything very carefully before asking “is there something going on? Because you two seem a little different.”

“Just a bit,” Zayn smiles. “Sweetpeas.” 

“Is there something we should know?” Liam asks, his eyebrows pulled together. The wrinkles on his forehead should make him look older, but they just add to his youthfulness. 

“We’re going out now,” Louis announces, proudly holding her and Harry’s clasped hands up for them to see. “We’re boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

She doesn’t know why she didn’t expect it, but their silence after the statement shocks her to the point of hurt. 

“Have you...” Liam blushes and trails off. “How will you two?” He clears his throat. “You know.” 

“We won’t,” Harry shrugs. 

Louis shakes her head. “We won’t,” she repeats. Her own voice seems a little far away to her, like she’s listening through a pane of glass. Her smile suddenly feels strained. 

-

They share a bed. It’s stifling in its intimacy, sometimes. It somehow terrifies her to dream of him, and of his hands sliding over her back and pulling her in close to him and then of her throwing her head back and then to wake up beside him. 

He dreams quietly, if at all. She watches him sleep, sometimes. She dreams of him dreaming of her. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. His curls are soft and his eyes are half lidded. This is one of the only sides of Harry Styles the world is yet to see. “I love you, Lou.” 

She smiles and shuffles closer to him. “Go to sleep,” she chides, gently. “I’ll still be here in the morning.” 

“Well, I’d hope so.” He breaks off to yawn. “I didn’t take you for that sort of girl.” 

The retort is so obvious, she doesn’t even bother. 

-

He walks up behind her when she’s doing her makeup in the mirror. She watches him, but distractedly. Outside their flat window, a man is drunkenly singing. 

“We should go out tonight,” he murmurs, holding her necklace. It’s a peter pan collar one, and she lifts her chin while he loops it around her neck. “Have a few drinks together. Dance.” 

The rest of it goes unsaid. “Are we inviting the boys?” She asks, lining her eyes. 

“Whatever you want,” he allows, easily. “I was hoping for something a little more romantic than a family outing, though.” 

She grins. In the mirror, she can see how he smiles at the sight of it. Soft.  
“Settled. A day in the studio, following by the best date you can come up with,” she challenges, laughing at his changing expression. 

“You’ll be amazed by my date-planning skills,” he promises. “You’ll have a wonderful night.” 

-

The first time it’s a man older than she is. 

Harry looks over his shoulder to her, still in the middle of the dance floor, and he looks apologetic. 

-

They’re watching a film, all of them, curled up close to each other. Louis pushes her toes into Niall’s leg every time the lead couple kiss. Niall frowns over at her, but stays quiet. 

“Harry’s crying!” Zayn teases, just as Harry sniffs and wipes at his eyes. 

“Leave him be,” Liam smiles, but there’s no heat in his warning. Harry laughs, maybe at himself, but looks at Louis. 

“It’s alright, babe,” Louis coos. “You’re a wimp.” 

“It doesn’t make me a _wimp,_ Christsakes,” Harry whines. “I’m more like the ultimate rom-com audience member.”

Niall actually bursts out laughing, his whole body shaking beside Louis. Harry laughs too, his eyes still shining with tears. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Haz,” Louis giggles. On-screen, the characters catch one another in the rain and kiss. Offscreen, Louis leans over Niall and does the same to Harry. 

The kiss onscreen is a goodbye one. Louis ignores that. Theirs is perfect, with their brothers laughing around them.

-

Most of their questions in interviewers are all the same. Publicly, they haven’t really done a lot, so interviewers have little to work with. There’s The Story, of course, of how they became a band. Then there’s the fallout of The X-Factor, fans, and of course:

“Is it hard, being the only girl?” The interviewer asks Louis. They’re all sitting on one sofa, with Louis perched on the arm. 

Louis laughs, and looks at her boys, humming thoughtfully. “Not as hard as it could be,” she finally allows. “The boys are very good.” 

“That’s always good to hear,” the interviewer laughs. She has a little bit of makeup smudged on the collar of her blouse. Her lipstick is scarlett. “I mean, the whole country is jealous of you getting to spend time with these boys.”

“Believe me. They’re just four ordinary boys,” Louis smiles. “There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

-

The second time it’s a tiny, delicate bleached blond and pierced and Harry’s glance over to her is shorter than the first time. 

The third time, Louis purposefully looks away. 

-

She has a dream that begins to creep up every time she falls asleep. It’s not always the same, but there’s always the same idea behind it. She always gets the same message. 

In the dream, this time at least, she’s sitting alone on a stage. The lights are blue and purple above her, and she swirls her hand along the stage, watching how her skin changes. 

Harry steps behind her. This part is a constant. She never hears him, but she is overwhelmed with the sudden knowledge that Harry is with her, standing guard. 

“Where have you been?” he asks her. He sounds sad. Lonely.

She never answers, no matter the question. Once, he asked her, “Who do you think you are?” 

The dream melts away. The purple and blue stage becomes a white bedroom, and she’s there, watching Harry stand at the window. There is a fire outside the window, and all Louis can see behind the silhouette of her boyfriend is orange. 

“Have sex with me,” he suddenly (and always) asks. 

When she says yes, her voice is not her own. Her hands are not her own, clasped in front of her and then she realises she is not in her own body. Of course she isn’t. Why would he ask that if she was. 

He calls her Louis, though. She is the same to him, like she has only ever been male.

-

The fans are starting to put together that the two of them may be dating. Louis wants to keep it secret, for a reason she can’t even understand herself, but Harry is blatant and open about and with his love for her. 

He tells her she’s beautiful, looking into her eyes and singing the words, and shes blushes. He’ll gaze at her during interviews or photo shoots or whenever he feels like it.   
He’ll kiss her just before they step out of their apartment, as though the fans could somehow sense what had just happened. 

It’s fun, hiding their secret in public. The fans trend things and the boy still tease, of course, but Louis takes solace in the fact that she’s not the only person in the world who thinks she and Harry could be perfectly happy with together. 

“You’re okay, right babe?” Harry asks her, leaning over and touching their foreheads together. 

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I’ll be fine.” 

-

He buys her flowers, as a surprise and as a thanks for being who she is and for trying. She’s on the phone with her mum when he sneaks in, and still when he holds out the bouquet.

“What’s happened?” Her mum asks when Louis gasps and then stops talking completely, speechless with her surprise and love for Harry. 

“No, nothing,” she manages. “Harry’s just come home with flowers.”

Her mum laughs, loud and long over the phone line. Louis thinks she can hear one of her very little sisters on the other line, asking what the matter is. Harry raises his eyebrow, still presenting her with the bouquet. 

“In that case, I’m off,” her mum declares, still laughing. “Be safe, Lou.”

“I’ll try,” she manages, dryly. 

“Try what?” Harry asks, once she’s hung up and set the phone to the side. She can smell the flowers faintly, their sickly sweet scent drifting up to her. 

“You were sent out to get dinner and a loaf at Tescos,” Louis reminds him. “Did you do any of that?” 

“I’m offended,” Harry pouts, twisting his body around and sitting on the sofa beside her in one fluid movement, “that you think I can’t handle being a romantic and everyday life.”

Louis takes the bunch of flowers from him and buries her nose in them. They’re pink and white, small little flowers, surrounded by branches and catkins. “I don’t think it’s the romantic aspect of your personality that prevents you from being a normal person, Harry, but they’re beautiful, thank you.” 

“Do I get a kiss?” He asks, batting his eyelashes. 

-

The fourth time, she doesn’t see him. She only knows about him because Harry doesn’t come into her room. 

She starts to wonder if this really is the fourth, or if it is the fifth, sixth, tenth. 

She’s never been able to master crying silently or gracefully or beautifully. She lies face down in bed and prays that her pillow muffles her sobs enough that Harry won’t know. 

Her love for Harry is, impossibly, still getting stronger. She knows him now; she knows his moods and his preferences and his temperament, but she knows he must be hiding so many secrets. 

She has hers, after all. 

She has her dreams and her wishes and her What If. She has the spans of time she spends in front of the mirror, makeup-less, naked and crying. 

-

Zayn is still sneaking out of buildings to smoke. He stands at the back, by the bins, and unwinds, thinking about their lives through the inhale, exhale. She thinks she’s maybe most like Zayn, in a way that they understand each other due to the circumstances of their lives.

“Do you think I need more girl friends?” She asks. He looks at her from the corner of his eye, taking a drag of his cigarette. She shakes her head when he offers it to her. 

“Do you?” He asks her, instead of answering. 

She doesn’t reply.

“I think he wishes I was a boy,” she admits, closing her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the way Zayn looks at her, his body curled back from her in shock and disbelief. It’s quiet for long enough that she chances it, opening one eye slowly. 

She doesn’t see any disbelief or shock in his eyes. He takes another drag, flicks the cigarette onto the ground where he crushes it with his heel, and all she can see is pity. 

She keeps it to herself that she’s starting to appreciate the merits of the wish, if not only so Harry could love her. 

-

The air is heavy in the hotel room they’re sharing, the dark blue of the walls alien and intimidating. She’s sitting in the middle of the bed, knees tucked under her, watching Harry drink at the glass table. She decides against cracking an age joke.

“Zayn told me something,” he says, and he sounds old. “He’s worried about us.” He looks at her, his green eyes watering. “You.”

Her heart stops, completely trapped within the moment and terrified of what’s going to follow. There’s a pain in her chest that she doesn’t quite feel. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, and he means it. Her answer will dictate how he treats and thinks of her not only in this moment, but in every one that will follow. His love wasn’t enough for her, and he now knows it. 

She shakes her head. “I love you,” she tries, like a peace offering. “I swear.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I love you too.” He sounds broken. 

“Not enough,” she says, resolute even as the tears spill over her cheeks and their love for one another sits at the bottom of her heart like a stone. 

“I could,” he offers, leaning forward in his seat.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” she warns. 

-

There’s a fairly well known story involving her, Harry, and a taxi driver. The basis of the story is that the taxi driver thought she was a boy, and the catch is that the taxi man was not the first person to ever make that mistake. 

There’s a fan, maybe two or three people down the line, that has caught Louis’ eye. One Direction is doing a signing for What Makes You Beautiful’s release, and the sheer number of people that have turned up has caught the band and their security completely by surprise. 

Louis is watching the fan watch them. He’s small, small enough that the people behind him don’t have to stretch too much in order to see One Direction or to take photos of them and commit these moments to memory. 

It takes a few minutes, but finally, the fan Louis has been watching makes it to them. He smiles and nervously manages to thank them for being there. He looks at Louis and thanks her, it seems, personally. 

It takes a couple of minutes after he leaves, but Louis catches Liam and Niall looking at one another. She leans over to them, under the pretense of passing them a marker. The fans chatter allows her to be loud and obviously annoyed enough that they look immediately apologetic. 

“He was a boy,” she snaps, passes a marker to Niall, and leans back in her seat. 

-

Harry asks her over a dinner of Tesco’s finest mince and potatoes. She watches him play with his food for a couple of minutes, pushing it from one side of his plate to another. 

“Are you okay?” She asks, laughing a little. Harry blinks up at her, looking startled. 

He laughs, and ducks his head. “What would you,” he pauses to clear his throat. The nervous habit is too loud in the room, accompanied only by the clock hanging on their wall. 

“What would you say if I asked you to have sex this evening?” He asks her, watching through his eyelashes. 

“I’d ask you if you were sure?” She replies. 

Even though she doesn’t doubt they are sincere, each apology he stutters out is like a phantom hand twisting a phantom blade further into her heart. 

“It’s fine,” she tells him. “I’m fine. _We’re_ fine.” 

He looks at her as if he knows she’s desperately trying to convince herself, as though he can see her struggle to believe her own words. If he could, she wouldn’t be surprised. 

-

Her mum is tired, and so is she, but the fact that she’s once again alone in bed keeps her awake enough to follow the conversation.

“You’re not happy,” Jay accuses, interrupting Louis’ account of her day. There’s a startled silence wherein several things should happen:

Louis should lie. 

Her mother should make sure Louis is telling the truth. 

Louis should continue, and believe in, the lie. 

They should both move on, and Jay should then find out what happened to Louis when she tried to change the bedclothes. 

But Louis is tired, so the following sequence of events takes place instead of the safer, time-tested method of lie, lie, _lie:_

Louis has the beginnings of her excuse in her mind. It’s late, she’s tired - overtired, maybe. She breathes deeply, closes her eyes, gets ready to stick with whatever story spills out and.

“Boo!” Her mum gasps, sounding more awake than she has all night. “What’s wrong honey? What’s happened?”

Louis sniffs and her breath hitches enough to make her hiccup when she tries to calm down. She covers her mouth with the sleeve of Harry’s hoodie until she’s able to talk.

“I think I just need a good cry,” she finally admits. “Everything’s a bit mental.” 

-

When Louis wakes up, she ignores the lack of Harry in her bedroom, and the seemingly continuing lack of him throughout the flat. The floor is cold underneath her bare feet.

She locks the bathroom door behind her and washes her face slowly, in the half light of morning. Her mind reels even as she’s cupping water in her hands and watching it overflow, the thought of being alone looping. 

“I wish he was able to love me more,” she whispers, the words lost under the noise of the running water. “I don’t mean to be selfish, but we already love each other so much. Why can’t it be _easier_?” 

In her peripheral vision, something about her reflection catches her eye. She looks up, taking in the pillow crease on her cheek and how Harry’s hoodie gathers around her shoulders. 

There’s something different about her, somehow. She doesn’t feel herself, though there is not the itching uncomfortable sensation she grew used to on the X-Factor, when she was carefully styled to become a different person. 

She mulls it over, moving her head from side to side and watching her reflection’s eyes follow her. She tries not to think about how much she misses Harry. 

-

Zayn is watching Harry with a quiet sort of intensity. Louis and Niall are watching them, and Liam is at the other side of the table, hovering over a notebook. Harry is struggling to seem composed, Louis can tell, and the tension is building. 

Niall giggles, the laugh rising uneasily and breaking off before it can grow. Louis smiles, watching Harry wince and bite the inside of his cheek. She supposes she should appear supportive, but Harry had knocked her out of the earliest round. 

“Your next interview is in less than five minutes,” someone reminds them, leaning into the room. There are cameras already in position, but they’re not rolling. An all-access interview with One Direction is never really all access. 

“You could tell a joke,” Louis points out to Harry.

Zayn’s voice is carefully neutral when he offers “only if he want me to win. The only person to laugh at his jokes is himself.” 

Harry barks out a laugh and then a curse, hitting the table with his fist. Zayn leans back, smiling, and Liam scribbles something down in his notebook. 

“It’s official,” he announces. “Zayn Malik is the most serious member of our band.” 

“That’s not saying much,” Niall snorts. “We’re all idiots.” 

-

When Louis was younger, young enough that her only memories of the time are re-imaginings of her mother’s stories, her biological father left them. She doesn’t know exactly why, because her mother doesn’t like to talk about it, but she can gather they fought a lot. 

That’s what she hears, in her mum’s voice, every time she says something about Harry. She can hear the inevitable end, the hours of heartbreak and loss and misery. She can hear “Will it be worth it?” far more clearly than she can hear “How is Harry?”

Doubt creeps in when Louis thinks about so many things, least of all who will be leaving Anwho. 

Her dreams are ever-changing. Now, Harry begs her for love. Now, she watches Harry stand in an expansive hall below her, and she sees him cry.

Now, she still loves him, and he, her; but she is starting to understand what the problems are. 

She is starting to see the truth and everything else that calls itself that. 

-

Harry pulls back from kissing her, and ducks to look her in the eyes, his brow furrowed. 

“What?” She asks, immediately defensive. He’s studying her face like he’s finally noticed something different about it too. Like he’s maybe seeing her in a new way, or in the wrong way, or the right one. Louis can’t possibly know how others see her if she can’t even see herself. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. “Jay was texting me. She said you were upset.” 

Louis shrugs, aware of how _large_ Harry’s hands feel on her shoulders. That her mum would sell her out like that stings, even if she isn’t sure exactly why. 

“You’re not, are you?” His voice is gentle, worried. “You can tell me, you know. Even if I’m the reason. Even if we are.”

She shrugs again, holding her breath to stop her having to force down the lump in her throat. She feels trapped by everything she’s been running away from for so long. 

This is the ending, for her or them. Her, more than likely. 

She takes a deep breath and whispers “Please just let him love me.”


End file.
